


Everything You Said to Me

by Waynesgrayson



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Family Issues, Gen, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:24:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3256544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waynesgrayson/pseuds/Waynesgrayson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl does and he feels like a kid again, too young to understand that his brother is no better then their father, but old enough to know that when it came down to it, Merle would at least make the effort, even if it was small.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything You Said to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Because let's be real, Daryl is Merle's soft spot. It's fucking obvious.  
> I love ship fics as much as the next person, but damn do I love family/sibling fics more.

“Daryl.”

The name was said in a hush. The first few letters are nothing more then a brush against his ear, breaking through his thoughts before slowly blending into the background.

He's sitting outside, a can of beer in one hand, the other hand resting in his lap. His back is against one of the white paint chipped beams of the porch. It's quiet with exceptions to the crickets and the breeze, a few leaves shirting and scratching against the pavement.

It's nighttime. The sun is setting bringing soft colours of oranges and pinks, surrounded by dark blue and black, slowly engulfing the colour. It's also cloudy outside and Daryl finds himself distracted by the colour show going on behind the faint curtain of blur.

“Daryl.”

This time the name is louder, but still soft like before. He turns his head to look at the front door and feels a pull.

He takes another minute to watch the sun drop before standing up. He places the beer can in his spot, and walks into the house.

He rounds the corner and his heart is immediately in his throat. He gasps and whines at the sight before him, reaching out helplessly, his arms feeling heavy and weighed down. He feels numb.

Merle is standing in the centre of the room, knife held in a tight grip. In front of him is an old torn up red recliner, now more pink from fading. 

Seated in the recliner is their father; bound, gagged, trying to talk through the cloth.

Daryl raises a hand and points weakly at their father, his mouth trying to form words but nothing comes out. He looks at Merle and almost takes a step back, but he stops himself. He can't show that kind of weakness.

He almost laughs at that, because there are tears in his eyes and he can feel his emotions stretch across his face without permission.

“It's okay.” he hears his brother say. The words have an odd softness to them, and he allows them to cover him like a blanket.

Especially when he hears the permission in them.

He blinks. The tears landing on his cheeks and trailing down to his chin, one after another.

Merle's looking Daryl dead in the eyes, his face is set in sharp sunken lines, almost grim. But his eyes are shining slightly and Daryl knows the emotion isn't for their father.

Merle never did have feelings to spare for their old man, and for that reason, Daryl finds himself calming down.

Daryl doesn't think he'll ever understand they way Merle is. One minute he's instilling fear into the hearts of others, demanding respect and calling Daryl every girl related name in the book, only to turn around and say with patience and care, “It's going to be okay, Daryl.”

He can't help the sharp intake of breath with Merle places the knife against their fathers throat, and he goes to raise his hands only to find them already up and gripping his crossbow tightly. He looks back to the recliner and sees a thing snarling and making noises like it was choking.  

Stomach split from what looked like fingernail marks, drool and blood mixing pink down it's face with eyes black and sunken. 

It was unlike anything he's ever seen before. 

 Merle has the tip of his knife against the things temple and his eyes are staring into Daryl's with a hard intensity.

“Don't have t' look, baby brother. Turn 'round now, that's it.”

Daryl feels sick as he turns away. He feels weak and pathetic, but his head is pounding and Merle's voice is like a life line right now. He doesn't try and stop the sob that escapes him when he hears the crunch of skill and flesh caving in, and when he feels a quick and harsh kiss placed to his temple and a hand grabbing his own, he goes with it willingly.

“He's gone now.”

Daryl doesn't answer, trying to will the tears away as Merle guides him away from their home, and into the woods behind it.

“We're going to be okay. I got you.”

\--

“Daryl!”

He gasps awake, blinking rapidly as he tries to get the haze of sleep out of his eyes, hands coming out from underneath a blanket to rub at them.

He blinks again and he sees that he's on his side, facing the doorway of the cell. He feels a presence behind him and he tenses before his brain can tell him who it is.

“Rick.” He says, though it comes out sounding more like a question.

A hand comes to rest on his arm, slowly making its way up and down his skin.

“Yeah,” says a sleep roughed voice, “it's me.”

They lay in silence for a while. His breathing heavy, and his heart pounding away in his chest, but he can't help but feel his body relax into the way Rick's fingers trace patterns up and down and bare arms, and he finds comfort in the hot breath against his ear and neck.

“Yer safe.”

He grunts in response.

“An' so is Merle.”

Daryl feels a bit of tension leave him at those words, though he feels embarrassed knowing he was talking in his sleep.

“Go see him if you need t'. Don't do this t' yourself.”

He gets up immediately. Stopping before the door he turns to Rick, who's watching him through concern filled eyes, a small encouraging smile on his face.

“Go back t' sleep, ya need it.” is all he says before pushing the curtain aside and making his way down the block.

\--

He stands a little while away from Merle's cell. His heart is pounding fast and he grimaces at the wet feel of his palms as he balls them into fists. He shifts from foot to foot, nervous and scared for reasons he isn't quite sure of. He rethinks his decision, and finds himself wanting to hurry back to his cell and take back his spot in bed.

“T' what do I owe the pleasure, baby brother?”

With that, Daryl realizes that he has nothing to say.

Sure, he and Merle could argue until the sun set and came back up again. They could get nasty and spit out harmful words until the tension was so thick it was suffocating.

Daryl knew all the words that could turn this into nothing more then what it always was.

But tonight, he doesn't want that.

Tonight, he just wants to look at his brother and know that he's okay. Tonight he wants to be told that everything will be okay from the one person who has always told him that, and while Merle wasn't always correct or even there for him, those words still meant more coming from him then any one else.

“Tell me.”

Merle stares at him for a moment, jaw clenched, eyes seemingly looking into Daryl's heart and brain, a power he's always had as far as Daryl was concerned. He looks away, looking at the floor, shaking his head slightly.

“Now yer gonna have t' be more specific there. I ain't a mind reader.”

“Don't bullshit me, man. Ya know damn well why 'm here. 'm not in the mood for this bullshit.” he says, pointing at Merle. “'m here for my brother.” His head is down now, eyes looking anything but Merle.

He hates how he sounds.

He doesn't like how he can't look his brother in the eyes like he could if he were just laying him in, yelling in his face about all the times he's failed him. Listing off his brothers flaws like there was no end, watching as the face in front of him somehow became closed off and hard, yet so open and wounded.

Merle stands taller when he stops talking, squaring his shoulders and his hand grips a bar. He opens his mouth, and a small sound leaves before he closes it.

In different circumstances Daryl would have laughed, would have looked at Merle with wide eyes and a smirk twitching on his face. Merle would have seen it and Daryl would get an earful, though not enough to make his smile disappear.

“I know.”

Daryl's head snaps up and his gaze is immediately locked with Merle's.

He's not like his brother. He can't unravel a gaze and understand what the brain is thinking. He can't always see what someone wants him to see, or say what they want him to say.

So he does all he can do; clear the gap between them, and wrap his hand around Merle's.

Neither of them move for a while, and they don't look at each other, and Daryl doesn't think he can because he feels the burn of tears behind his eyes and he can feel his throat tighten from the emotion swirling inside of him.

He feels a loss when Merle pulls his hand out from under his own. He nods after a moment and immediately regrets it when a tear lands on his cheek. His immediate response is to leave, but before he can even think about turning around, Merle's hands reaches behind his head and pulls him towards the bars.

He fights him for a second before giving in.

Soon his head is against the bars on the one side, and he can feel Merle watching him as he too brings his forehead down to rest it against the bars.

Against Daryl's own.

“C'mon, look at me.”

Daryl does and he feels like a kid again, too young to understand that his brother is no better then their father, but old enough to know that when it came down to it, Merle would at least make the effort, even if it was small.

He feels like his eight year old self who sought out Merle through the bars and alleyways of their town after their father beat him sick. And Merle, who after yelling at Daryl for his stupidity and recklessness pulled him in and let him cry in ways he couldn't at home. Yelling and screaming into the worn denim of his jacket, until he felt raw and tired, falling asleep as he was scooped up and carried into the night.

Daryl feels himself give in.

The hand on his head tightens slightly as he lets out a chocked sob, and part of him wishes they could be in same room so he could bury himself into Merle's side like he did when he was young enough to still get away with it.

Part of him wants to pull away for the same reason.

He knows they will never talk about this, like all those times before.

That this moment will just be something between them; known, but never acknowledged.

“Tell me.” he says, his voice only a whisper but broken all the same.

Merle gives him a small, sad smile.

“It's gonna be okay.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know. I just feel that even though Merle and Daryl obviously had a terrible relationship, they also had a lot of moments.
> 
> http://waynesgrayson.tumblr.com/


End file.
